Angels and Ministers of Grace
by vandevere
Summary: Jack McCoy learns-the hard way-that the Rule of Law is a mere dream. X-over with Heroes Reborn
1. Chapter 1

Angels and Ministers of Grace

 _Notes: While this is a crossover of Law and Order and Heroes, the main characters of Heroes will not be appearing. The characters of Law and Order will be doing most of the heavy lifting here, along with a small cast of brave-and possibly hapless-OCs…_

 _1 Hogan Place_

A gray-haired venerable gentleman, at the top of his game, Jack McCoy was on his way to Court. Didn't know it, but today was the day it was all going to come apart…

He had been following the news, of course; about Renautas Corporation, about their promise to save humanity from the Evos, and the Constitution be damned.

 _Adam would have eaten them for Breakfast…_

Adam Schiff was somewhere in Europe, fighting the good fight there…

 _Hope he stays there, where it's safer…_

The usual traffic-foot and motor-was in evidence today, but the pedestrians all seemed…edgy…casting nervous glances at three vans.

Two minivans, and a larger one, looked like it was designed for prisoner transport; all three bore the Renautas logo, and McCoy felt chills run down his spine.

 _Hunting…My god…They're hunting Evos here…_

More to the point, four men, each wearing jackets with the Renautas logo on the lapels, each man armed…

They were walking right up to him, false smiles plastered on insincere faces.

"Jack McCoy!" the man in the lead called out. "If you would come with us please?"

"No," McCoy looked at his watch. "I have to be at Court right now. Please call my administrative assistant to make an appointment…"

He turned to leave, but-all of a sudden-his legs weren't working quite right. Had to be the two tranq darts suddenly embedded in his chest. Legs turned to butter, McCoy felt someone catch him before he hit the ground…

 _Claire…shouting something…McCoy can't hear her over the rumbling roar in his head…_

 _Game of darts in a bar…_

 _And suddenly, Jack is very small, his father's huge hands coming down…_

Jack McCoy jerked awake in the rumbling darkness, tried to move, felt the straps holding him down.

 _Don't panic,_ he told himself. Just a little hard not to panic. He'd never been kidnapped before…

His eyes were adapting to the dark now…

 _The big van…_

There were a few others; prisoners, like him, each strapped down on a stretcher, guards, armed with guns keeping watch; and McCoy heard muffled weeping. His throat tightened at the sound.

 _Children…They're taking children…_

*Geriatrics too, Gramps…*

The voice, only in McCoy's head, shocked him into stillness.

*Don't worry, Gramps,* the voice continued. *Help is coming. We're getting rescued. Try to hang on to something…if you can…*

A few minutes passed. Then, the van veered suddenly. McCoy heard gunfire. The van veered again; everything tumbling. Someone screamed. McCoy's stretcher hit something. He saw stars, then he saw nothing at all…

"Hey, Gramps…" Someone gently slapping his face…voice softly hectoring…

"C'mon…open those baby blues, willya?"

Jack McCoy didn't want to. He hurt…all over; his head pounding like the great-grandfather of all hangovers…

"C'mon, Gramps…" the hectoring voice sighed. "We don't have time for this!"

McCoy opened his eyes, blinking owlishly up into brilliant haze. The haze slowly resolved itself into early morning sun, and a man he didn't know kneeling over him.

" _Finally…"_ the man sighed again. "Feeling better, Gramps?"

 _Not so much…_

McCoy slowly sat up, hand to his throbbing head.

"Where are we?" his voice came out a scratchy croak.

"Just inside Pennsylvania," the man said.

"Pennsylvania?" McCoy hauled himself to his feet. The sudden surge of vertigo almost laid him right back down again; but the man caught him by both shoulders, kept him more or less upright.

"Whoa, Gramps…" he said. "Catch your breath first. You've had a rough day."

That man's voice…

" _You?"_

"Yeah…" the man nodded. "I'm an Evo, and mental speech is part of my power. What's yours?"

"I'm not an Evo," McCoy stepped backward, wobbling slightly, ran a shaky hand through his hair.

"Gramps, you've got to be an Evo. They don't do _this_ to Normals."

McCoy leveled a stern gaze at the man.

"I'm only going to say this once," he said. "I am _not_ an Evo."

"Then, why did they take you?"

"I've spoken out against Renautas countless times; done editorials on all the papers, lots of them."

"So you're a… _irritant?_ " the man snorted.

 _An irritant…_

 _I certainly didn't do very much to stop them…_

"Yeah…" McCoy nodded, feeling ashamed…useless. "That's about the level of what I was able to accomplish…"

"You see," the man said. "That's the thing… They don't take irritants. Either they ignore them; or they kill them. How come you ain't dead? How come you're here with us?"

"I don't know," McCoy glanced around, looking for a road. "I have to get back. I can-"

"Hold on, Gramps," the man interrupted. "You go back, they'll take you again. Do you know what they do to Evos? They use them. They'll use you right up, then discard your body in the trash when you're dead."

Chills ran through McCoy at the thought.

"If this is true," he fought to keep his voice steady. "Then Renautas needs to be brought down. They need to be brought to justice. And stop calling me _Gramps!_ "

"What can you possibly do? _Sue_ them?"

"I'm the fucking EADA of the District of Manhattan!" McCoy snapped. "Jack McCoy at your service."

The man chuckled softly…bitterly.

"Your belief in the so-called _Rule of Law_ is touching…Jack" he said. "But you're still not getting it. You've been outed as an Evo. You don't have rights anymore. Your license to practice Law will have been revoked by now. You won't be able to bring _anyone_ to justice."

It felt like a punch to the gut…

McCoy had to sit back down on the grass.

 _Adam…what would Adam have done..?_

"There's only one thing you can do right now, Jack." The man settled down next to him. "Help me get Lainie to Canada…"

He gestured to the girl who'd been sitting there on the grass, nervously watching everything.

 _She couldn't be older than thirteen…_

The man laid a gentle hand on McCoy's shoulder.

"I don't just have mental speech," he said. "I can also _see_ Evos. I'm not as good as Molly-God rest her soul-but, if I'm looking directly at someone-like I'm looking at you right now-I can tell. Jack, you're an Evo. I can see that as plain as day."

"I'm over sixty," McCoy objected. "I could I live this long and not have it come out?"

"It's…different for everyone," the man shrugged. "Sometimes they're _born_ triggered. Other times, it can take a man's whole life…"

"So, I'm a late bloomer…" McCoy stood, looked down at himself; his clothes, rumpled and stained…

"That's about the size of it, Gra…Jack," the man stood. "I'm Alex, by the way, and Lainie you know already. You ready to go?"

"What's in Canada?" McCoy asked.

"Haven," Alex picked up two backpacks, tossed one to McCoy. "Renautas has been expanding their reach, but the Canadian government hasn't been as…cooperative as the US…"

 _America…_ McCoy thought bitterly. _The Land of the Free…_

"We're going to _walk_ to Canada?"

"Yes," Alex nodded. "Haven's there. Evos can be safe there."

"I'm not a…never mind…" McCoy sighed as he slid the backpack over his shoulders. "I'm not exactly dressed for hiking."

"We'll find you something better if we can…" the man assured him. "For now, we hoof it!"

McCoy settled the backpack on his shoulders, followed the two…fugitives.

 _Canada…_

No choice but to follow, and pray the nightmare would end…


	2. Chapter 2

Angels and Ministers of Grace

Chapter 2

 _27_ _th_ _Precinct_

 _204 West 119_ _th_ _Street_

"Mike!" Lieutenant Anita Van Buren had called him. "Get your butt here pronto!"

So, here Detective Mike Logan was, in Van Buren's office; a frightened-looking Abbie Carmichael for company. Another man was there too, bearded, around Logan's age.

"What's up?" Logan asked Van Buren. "I came as quickly as I could."

"It's Jack…"a sick look of dread lay in Carmichael's eyes. "He was… _taken_."

"Taken? Jack McCoy?" _That_ was alarming. "Any clue who did it?"

"Renautas Corporation," the bearded man spoke grimly. "They took him right outside of Hogan Place."

" _Renautas?"_ Logan frowned. Renautas had been on the warpath lately, going after…

"No," he said. "That just can't be true. I know Jack McCoy, and he _can't_ be an Evo. He just can't."

"Does it really matter what Jack McCoy is or isn't?" the man asked. "The people doing this aren't even _real_ police. And that's because real police wouldn't have the right to…detain law abiding citizens. But _that_ is exactly what the United States government is allowing Renautas Security to do. That is what the US government allowed Renautas Security to do to Jack McCoy. I'm told they shot him with tranq darts. Does that sound legit to you?"

Van Buren sighed.

"I should have introduced you," she said. "This is Darren Marth; a lawyer for Amnesty International."

Logan nodded curtly.

He had to admit that Evos scared him at least a little. But, Renautas, what they were doing, what the government was _allowing_ them to do…

That was infinitely more terrifying.

As for Jack McCoy…

"Are you _sure_ he's an Evo?"

"Mike!" Carmichael hissed. "This is _Jack_ we're talking about. Not some random stranger."

"Let me take this, Ms. Carmichael," Darren Marth walked up to Logan.

"I understand your reservations about Evos," he finally said. "But Man habitually persecutes _that which is different_. Always have, and probably always will. Jews…African-Americans…Native Americans…Latinos…Even the Irish have felt bigotry's sting; and Evos are merely the latest in a long line of victims."

He paused.

"As for Jack McCoy, if they took him, he must be an Evo. Renautas doesn't make that kind of mistake. Would knowing _that_ about Jack McCoy change your opinion of him?"

"Of course not!" Carmichael shot Logan a withering glare. "Jack's my friend. If there's anything I can do to help him, I'll do it, no asking required."

"Mike?" Van Buren's eyes-with their no nonsense attitude-were fixed on him.

"Yeah…" Logan patted Carmichael's shoulder. "I'm in too. Whatever else he is, Jack McCoy's a good man. So…what do we do?"

"I'm taking you off the Active Duty Roster, Mike," there was relief in Van Buren's eyes. "Abbie's officially taking a sabbatical. Both of you will work with Darren Marth, and all three of you will report to his boss."

"Who _is_ your boss?" Carmichael asked Marth.

"My boss?" Marth grinned. "That would be Adam Schiff."

* * *

It was early afternoon after the Great Escape, and Jack McCoy was feeling breathless. He had put on these shoes in anticipation of a formal trial; not a hiking expedition through God's green acres…

This would be the third time he had slipped…stumbled…or just plain tripped over something. Now, he was sitting on a rock, massaging a twisted ankle, vaguely grateful it wasn't a fracture.

"We have to move!" Alex was looking about nervously. Apparently they were too close to civilization for his comfort. McCoy winced as he massaged his ankle.

"Don't think I can walk any more today," he apologized. "I twisted my ankle good and proper."

He didn't want to say this…

"Maybe you should leave me behind. I'm not exactly a spring chicken anymore."

That was partly the reason he had twisted his ankle; lagging behind, running to catch up…

 _I'm too old for this…_

"No" Lainie suddenly spoke up. "We _need_ him!"

McCoy frowned at the vehemence in her.

 _Need?_

Alex bent over her, adult to child.

"You sure, Lainie?"

"Yes," her sudden brilliant smile almost stopped McCoy's heart. "He's our last line of defense, our very own… _insurance policy_. If he can't walk, you must carry him."

 _Was_ she a child?

Suddenly, McCoy wasn't so sure…

"Carry him, huh?" Alex swung his gaze back to McCoy, speculative look in his eyes. Then, he moved, hauling McCoy up…

 _Wait…what?_

Slung over Alex's shoulders…

 _Like a fucking sack of potatoes…_

Fortunately, this undignified mode of transport only lasted a few hours. It was beginning to get too dark to travel. The two uninjured travelers made quick work of setting camp up for the night; even with only a crescent moon to light their way.

As chilly as the night was bidding to be, there would be no campfire.

Supper was trail mix, and stale bottled water. What they were going to do when the bottled water ran out, McCoy had no idea.

 _Depends on how polluted our rivers, creeks, and ponds are…_

McCoy wasn't exactly sanguine about their chances there.

He watched Lainie in the dim light of the crescent moon. She bothered him.

So clearly a pre-teen.

Her eyes were… _ancient_.

"I'm going to bind your ankle, Jack," Alex knelt next to him. "We'll walk slower tomorrow, so it should be easier for you."

"Yeah…" he let Alex handle his foot.

"What's _her_ story?" he nodded at the girl.

"Lainie?" Alex looked back at her, turned back to finish wrapping McCoy's ankle. "She's…carrying something. I think it might be… _hope."_

"Hope…" McCoy scoffed. "Right up there with religion…"

"Yeah, Jack…I guess…" Alex had finished with McCoy's ankle. "She's different. The hope is real."

"If you say so…" McCoy was too tired to debate the issue.

Lainie came over.

"Don't be afraid, Jack," her sing-song voice was particularly chilling. "You will do…very nicely."

"Uh…thanks, Lainie."

Not her fault that circumstances had destroyed her sanity.

 _She's just a kid… She should be in school, crushing over boys and fretting over her homework. Not this…_

Jack McCoy laid back down on the grass, tried to ignore the chill, and his still-twinging ankle. Right now, he wanted a steak, with all the trimmings; along with a generous helping of scotch…

 _When all of this is done…_ he told himself.

Dark laughter bubbled up within; bleak and bitter.

Whatever _this_ was, when it was done, Jack McCoy was pretty sure he would not be among the living…


	3. Chapter 3

Angels and Ministers of Grace

Chapter 3

The three fugitives moved in in the morning, Alex supporting Jack McCoy as the older man hobbled on as best he could.

Last night's sleep hadn't been particularly restful, what with the chill, the hard ground, and the dreams of Claire Kincaid…

Lainie was skipping along by McCoy's left side; and today, she was the innocent little girl…

Alex called a halt in the early afternoon; stopping by a lovely, swift-running creek. Lainie had pronounced the creek to be safe, so they had lunch there-more trail mix with water fresh from the creek. After that, they all refilled their water bottles…

It was nice to rest by this creek for a while. Jack McCoy felt comfortably warm for the first time since this…thing…had started.

He sighed, rubbed his face, feeling stubble.

"Jack," Alex walked up. "Ready to head on out?"

"Yeah…" Ankle still not up to snuff, he leaned on Alex for support. "How long do you think it will take to get to Canada?"

Alex sighed, a rueful sound.

"We'll probably be on the road for months."

"Thought so…" McCoy grumbled.

"You miss your old life?"

"Intensely."

Alex laughed.

"Let's put some miles behind us."

In spite of jack McCoy's ankle, they made good time. Now, it was early evening, and Alex was beginning to look for suitable camping sites…

Lainie had stopped her ceaseless skipping about, had taken McCoy's hands in hers, smiling brightly up at him.

McCoy smiled back down at her, feeling awkward.

He'd never had much simpatico with children; even his own daughter, Rebecca.

She, at least, was fine, married and living in California.

 _Unless she's an Evo too…_

The fear was sudden.

 _Did they take her too?_

"You're awfully quiet, Jack," Alex observed.

"Just thinking…" McCoy said.

A gunshot rang out.

 _Something_ slammed Jack McCoy to the ground; red hot agony blooming in his chest.

He lay there, paralyzed by the agony, his eyes recording everything. More gunshots rang out, and Alex's body, jerking as bullets struck him, bringing him down…

 _Lainie!_

McCoy tried to move, the crippling agony spearing through his chest, lifting his head, looking for the girl…

He found her…

Just in time to see a spray of bullets mow her down.

 _A child…_

Four men with guns, each wearing a jacket with the Renautas logo emblazoned on the back…

 _They shot a child…_

Jack McCoy felt something deep inside snap, as something…something _feral_ opened its eyes and began to uncoil…

 _A little girl…_

Pressure began to build in McCoy's head, a… _something_ …far removed from the agony of the bullet that had torn its way through his chest.

Pressure building in his head, fit to crack his skull wide open…

He slowly hauled himself up on his knees, roughly upright.

"Hey!" one of the men called. "One's still alive."

He lifted his gun, aimed it directly at Jack McCoy's head; and that… _feral something_ lashed out…

Four spears of lightning…four targets…four dead Renautas employees…

Jack McCoy slumped forward, lay there, breath coming in harsh gasps. He tried to order himself, tried to pick himself back up again.

 _Right hand…left hand…right knee…left knee…_

Slowly, he crawled over to where the girl lay. She was still alive, but wouldn't be for long. Even Jack McCoy could see that…

It threw him back to Law School, his _Trekkie_ friends, and how they had teased him...

 _He's a lawyer, dammit, not a doctor!_

Now, he fervently wished he _was_ a doctor, so he could save her life.

Lainie was reaching out to him, and McCoy…

He wanted to save her. He bent down…she reached up…

Her hands grabbed his head, with surprising strength, fingers gripping his hair. _Something_ poured into him, searing its way through his limbs and torso, thundering down his nerves and blood. Rational thought erased, he couldn't even hear himself scream…

Then…everything just…stopped.

Lainie's arms fell limp at her sides.

Jack McCoy collapsed, convulsions wracking his body even before he hit the ground.

Finally…

Silence.

 _Flashes of light strobing through Jack's brain…images…sounds…all scrambled…devoid of meaning…_

 _*Wake up Jack…*_

 _The lanky body twitches feebly, curling in upon itself._

 _*Move, Jack. You can sleep later…*_

 _Eyes flicker open, blinking up at the dead dark sky. Jack feels the hard ground under him, the grass chill against his cheek._

 _*_ _ **Move**_ _, Jack…*_

 _It takes time…_

 _He staggers and falls several times before he finally attains a tenuous balance. His wallet lies on the ground, in a puddle of blood. He doesn't have the energy to bend and retrieve it, and it doesn't matter anyway…_

 _Jack staggers off, reeling as he heads away from all of the…carnage._

 _He stumbles and slides his way down a hill, and there, right in front of him, are train tracks, and a stopped train. A freight train…_

 _It's the hardest thing Jack has ever done in his life, climbing into a car full of crates. He pulls himself up and in, and now he's almost at the end of his strength._

 _*Just a few feet more, Jack…*_

 _Just a few feet more, and now he's hidden between two large crates. There, he collapses…_

 _The train begins to move again, and Jack can feel the engine rumble as it thrums through his body. Then, he feels nothing at all…_

* * *

Late afternoon, and Detective Mike Logan had been called to a crime scene far out of his jurisdiction…

On the New York/Pennsylvania Border, a few miles into New York…

 _Six bodies…two killed by guns, four killed by…something else._

Here Logan was, at the crime scene, accompanied by Lieutenant Hank Strohm.

 _Why did he call for a cop from the 27_ _th_ _?_

Strohm was ill at ease as he described the scene his people had uncovered, latex-gloved fingers clutching a bloodstained wallet…

"Four men, Strohm began. "All employees of Renautas Corporation. Looks like they were electrocuted; but we can't be sure."

"Okay," Logan nodded. "What about the other two?"

"Man and girl…Alex Beattie, age thirty-five, and Elaine Drury, age twelve."

"They… _shot_ …a…child?"

 _They're killing kids…_

"There's more, Detective Logan…" Strohm's voice brought him back. "There's a third victim, and he's why we called you…"

Strohm held out the bloodstained wallet. Logan quickly put on latex gloves, took the wallet, and opened it.

Jack McCoy's Bar Association ID stared up at Logan as Strohm began to guide him through the crime scene, what his people thought had happened here…

"Someone was shot _here_ ," Strohm indicated a spot where the grass was heavily streaked with blood. "Beattie was shot several feet ahead, and Miss Drury died several feet to the left. The blood-type found here doesn't match either one of them anyway. The blood here _is_ a match for EADA Jack McCoy. Believe me, I had that checked before we called you. Also, this is where we found his wallet…"

"Jack McCoy was _shot?_ " Logan looked around. "Where the fuck is he?"

"Don't know. We've searched everywhere. Even along the train tracks. No sign of Mr. McCoy anywhere. Could be too late anyway…"

"What do you mean?"

Strohm sighed.

"All of this happened around nine, or ten PM last night. Going by the amount of blood here-Mr. McCoy's blood-our ME thinks the blood loss was…significant. If we don't find him in time, he's dead."

Logan felt numb as he dialed a number on his cell phone.

"Abbie…Yeah…I'm on-site…"he sighed. "Abbie…there's bad news…"


	4. Chapter 4

Angels and Ministers of Grace

Chapter 4

 _1 Hogan Place_

Adam Schiff sighed as he got out of the cab, made his way into the building he had called _home_ for so many years.

 _Jack McCoy_ …

A living contradiction in so many ways; brilliant, impetuous, principled, competitive, and-above all- _just…_

Adam Schiff loved the man like a son.

Schiff shook himself. Abbie Carmichael and Darren Marth were both waiting for him, and what he saw in their eyes…

"You've had news of him?" Schiff demanded.

"Yes," Abbie Carmichael nodded. She laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Adam, it's…bad. We think Jack was shot."

Schiff stumbled, might have fallen but for Marth and Carmichael.

 _Jack? Shot?_

 _Dear god…_

"How bad is it?" he finally found his voice. "Is he alive? Where is he?"

"Don't know," Marth spoke up. "It happened on the New York/Pennsylvania border. Detective Logan's down there right now. Mr. McCoy's wallet was retrieved on the site. The local M.E. thinks Mr. McCoy suffered serious blood loss."

"So, Jack could be dying," Schiff closed his eyes against the stab of grief. "He could be dead."

He felt Abbie's hand on his arm.

"Let's get inside, Adam," she said. "We'll get Mike online, and figure out what to do from there…"

* * *

Derek Smalls waited for the train, his little-but very _big_ -brother waiting patiently by his side.

 _Going home to Momma…_

Joby was what some folk might call… _special_ …

Derek's kid brother, all seven-foot-plus and three hundred and fifty pounds of him, had the biggest heart and sweetest nature of anyone Derek had ever known.

 _So what if he's…slow?_

"Train's coming!" Joby's voice carried its usual delight.

"Yes," Derek agreed. He could hear the freight train rolling on in…

It came to a halt right in front of them.

Scanning the area for train employees-they tended to take a dim view of freeloaders-Derek and Joby quickly scrambled aboard. As the train started to move again, Derek heaved a sigh of relief, sat himself down. Joby, as usual, made his customary examination of both cabin and crates.

He screamed in sudden terror.

"Joby?" Derek stumbled over to his brother, followed his terrified gaze.

 _Great…_ he sighed. _Dead old guy…_

Well…it happened sometimes…

The body lay wedged between two large crates, bloodstain spread across the back.

Joby was shaking as he stared at the body.

"I'll take care of this," Derek touched Joby's shoulder.

He knelt over the body, felt at the base of the throat for a pulse.

The pulse was there, heart beating wildly. Gently, Derek turned the man over, saw the matching bloodstain across the chest.

 _Shot through and through…_

Hesitantly, he laid an ear to the man's chest, listened to his breathing. The lungs sounded clear.

 _Not bleeding into his lungs…_

He brought his gaze to the unconscious man's face, brushed unruly gray locks from his forehead.

 _No blood in his nose or mouth…_

"Is he d-dead?" Joby's voice was shaking.

"Not yet," Derek sighed as he slid his heavy denim jacket off and wrapped the man up in its warmth.

"Momma will fix him," Joby declared.

"Yeah, Joby. But he's gotta _live_ to get to Momma."

"Can I help?"

Derek nodded.

"He needs to be kept _warm_ , Joby. Momma's three hours away. We've gotta keep him alive that long."

Joby nodded, sat down on the cabin floor, took the man up in his arms, held him close. Derek knew Joby would sit there for as long as it took, holding the old man, until the end of time if necessary…

* * *

Abbie Carmichael handed a glass of scotch-neat-to Adam Schiff.

Schiff looked at the glass, pain creasing his features.

"Jack's own stash?"

"He'd understand," Abbie stubbornly wiped the tears away. "We'll reimburse him when he gets back."

"When he gets back…" Schiff stared morosely into his scotch. "What if he _doesn't_?"

An office phone rang, Darren Marth answered.

"It's Logan," he said. "I'm putting him on Conference Call…"

"Hello?" Detective Mike Logan's voice sounded clear. "Who's there?"

"We're all here," Schiff spoke up. "Have you learned anything new?"

"A little…" Logan paused, and Abbie could hear him going through his notes, all on paper.

Mike Logan was apparently not quite ready to enter the twenty-first century just yet. Were it not for the fact that a very dear friend's life lay in grave peril, she might have laughed at Logan's quirks.

"Three freight trains passed on the tracks between the shootings and discovery of the crime scene," Logan continued. "It's just barely possible that Jack might have climbed into one of them."

"With a bullet in him?" Schiff exploded, slamming his glass on the table. "We _know_ what happened. Have any of you geniuses thought up a plan to locate Jack and bring him home?"

"We wanted to put an _APB_ out..." Abbie quailed under Schiff's stern hawk gaze. "But Renautas has got to be still looking for him, and, if they find him…"

She shuddered at the thought.

 _At best, an unmarked grave…_

Schiff sighed, patted her hand.

"I'm sorry, Abbie," he muttered gruffly. "I'm just worried."

"We all are," she patted his hand right back.

A brief silence reigned. Then, Darren Marth stirred.

"We could initiate a photo ID Search String on FIPP," he said.

" _FIPP?"_ Abbie and Logan spoke simultaneously, and Marth shook his head.

" _Facial Identification Paradigm Protocol,"_ he explained. "It's a new technology designed to comb through all police databases based on photographs alone. All we need to do is plug some recent photographs of Jack McCoy into FIPP's Search Parameters, and set it loose. It's probably our best chance of locating him."

Abbie looked at Adam. He nodded.

"Do it, Darren," he said. "And, Mike?"

"Yeah, boss?" Logan's voice came over the line."

"Get your ass back here. There's nothing more you can do there."

* * *

Lobelia Smalls was getting her small house ready for her two boys, coming home to mourn the death of their Papa…

A turkey was roasting in the oven, grits and greens on the stove, and an apple pie cooling by a window. She heard the truck rolling up, a neighbor kind enough to fetch the boys from the train tracks…

"Momma!" Alarm in Derek's voice.

Her older son burst in through the front door, followed by Joby.

Joby was carrying a white man, cradling him in his arms, and all thoughts of a family reunion went right out the window.

"Into my bedroom!"

Lobelia quickly yanked the bedding back, just in time for Joby to lay the man down, still wrapped up in Derek's jacket.

Two fingers to the base of his throat, fingers registering the wild beat of his heart.

She looked down at him.

 _Sixty-plus,_ she decided. _Thin as a rail…_

"He was shot, Momma," Derek explained. "Went right through him."

Lobelia nodded.

"Lift him, Joby" she ordered.

Joby held the man while she stripped both jacket and bloodstained shirt off.

At least she didn't have to dig a bullet out of him.

 _Have to stop the bleeding, though…_

The next hour or so was best not dwelt upon too closely.

Lobelia _had_ been able to coax a…liberal… amount of whiskey into the man; and Joby, with his gentle and tender hold on the man, still managed to also be firm and unyielding.

But cauterizing and stitching both entry and exit wounds was an incredibly painful experience.

At last it was done, wounds also washed with more of that whiskey. Now, Lobelia could concentrate on bandaging those wounds.

"Derek, honey," she didn't look up from her work. "Go to your father's clothes, and get his bathrobe. It should fit him."

"Yes, Momma,"

Soon, the man was wrapped up in her late husband's bathrobe, warm blankets drawn up to his shoulders. She looked down at him.

Hawk features, deathly still, frighteningly pale, with bedraggled gray hair.

 _Who are you?_ She wondered. _How did you come to us?_


	5. Chapter 5

Angels and Ministers of Grace

 _1 Hogan Place_

Detective Mike Logan made his way into his temporary headquarters, shoulders slumping wearily. Thankfully, there was a small nook here, replete with sofas and comfortable chairs.

Logan chose a chair, sat heavily, limp with exhaustion.

 _Just a minute…_

He jerked awake to a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Abbie…"

Carmichael took a chair right next to him.

"Hey…" she said.

"Hey right back," Logan smiled. "What's the news here? I mean…FIPP. Are they _serious?"_

"Darren's setting the FIPP Search up right now. We plugged all of Jack's photos into the program. Hopefully, we'll find him."

"Hopefully… _alive,_ " Logan muttered. He had lost enough friends already.

"Adam have anything else for me?"

"Yeah…" Abbie nodded. "He wants you to go home and get some sleep. I'll call you in the morning…earlier if we get news…"

"The trains…" Logan remembered.

"Adam's working on those himself, Mike," Abbie hesitated. "Do you really think Jack would've been able to climb into a freight train car with a bullet in him?"

Logan shrugged wearily.

"It's the only explanation that makes any sense, Abbie. We would've found him otherwise…dead or alive, we would have found him."

Abbie nodded.

"So…there's hope," she stood. "Let's get you home…"

* * *

Lobelia Smalls looked down at her patient. Her boys had brought him here three days ago, and only now was she beginning to believe he might actually survive.

His color was better, and so was his breathing.

He stirred uneasily, muttering softly in his dreams; talking to people who weren't there…

 _Lainie…_

 _Claire…_

Lobelia sensed horrible tragedy. Those two girls…

There was trauma…

He jerked and trembled in his sleep; curling in upon himself…

Lobelia sat by him, took his hand, and caressed his forehead, brushing tousled gray hair back from his brow.

"Shh…Honey…" she murmured. "It's all right…"

* * *

 _Shh…honey…It's all right…"_

The voice followed Jack, down into…wherever he was...

 _Dead blue eyes…_

Hands reaching…reaching up for him…

 _Shh…It's just a dream. Wake up sweetheart, wake up…_

Jack's eyes opened. A dark skinned woman bent over him, holding his hand.

"At last…" she murmured, relief in eyes and voice. "When my boys brought you to me, I was sure you were dead."

Jack looked up at her, tried to get his bearings.

"Who…" a coughing fit overtook him, sending spasms of pain through his chest.

"Easy there…" she sat him up, glass of cool water to his lips, laid him back down again.

Jack looked around, tried to hook himself to _now_ , tried to find a _yesterday_ to connect to _today._

But all he had were dead blue eyes, and bloody hands reaching up to clasp his head, fire exploding inside his skull…

The touch of a gentle hand brought him back.

"I'm Lobelia Smalls," she said, clearly expecting an answer.

A moment of panic, then…

"I'm… _Jack?"_

At least he thought that was his name.

"You were shot, Jack," Lobelia explained. "Do you remember anything?"

 _Dead blue eyes…_

There was something else…

 _Canada…_

"I have to go to Canada…" He tried to sit, sudden pain doubling him over.

"Easy, Jack," Lobelia's hands eased him back down, gently soothed the pain away. "Get well first. When you're fully recovered, I'll help you get to…wherever it is you've got to go."

* * *

One week later, Jack was about as… _recovered_ …as he was ever likely to get, and that really worried Lobelia Smalls.

 _All he remembers is his first name…nothing else…_

The gunshot wound _was_ healed.

He wanted to go to Canada.

He _needed_ to go to Canada.

Lobelia did her best to prepare Jack for the trip he was about to undertake. She gave him a set from her late husband's clothes; sturdy jeans, shirts and tees, pair of boots, denim jacket, a hat, and a backpack.

She had filled that backpack with what she considered basic necessities; soap, towel, electric razor that also used batteries, a wallet with a little extra cash inside, and a foil-wrapped package of her good fried chicken, along with generous slabs of fresh-baked bread, and bottled water.

So, Jack was as prepared for the road as she could make him.

 _Hope he can get where he needs to go. Hope he can find peace at the end of it…_

Now, she and her boys took Jack to the train tracks, Derek giving Jack advice about traveling on the open road.

"Stay _small,_ Jack," Derek was saying. "Train people hate rail-riders, so don't get caught. Getting caught will lead to jail time, and you don't want that."

"Stay small," Jack repeated, nodding.

"Also," Derek took Jack by both shoulders, shook him gently. "You might get caught anyway. People on the road always do. No avoiding it. If you _do_ get caught, _don't_ resist. Cops hate that; and you'll suffer for it…"

"Stay small…don't resist," Jack nodded, smiling brightly; and Lobelia could only worry about the man.

 _No memory…no last name…only Canada…_

The train came in, slowed to a stop in front of them. Lobelia stopped Jack before he climbed aboard.

"Be careful, Jack," she hugged him. "I didn't save your life so you could get yourself killed elsewhere. You hear me?"

Jack nodded.

"I'll be careful," he climbed into the freight car. The train began to move, and Jack was gone.

Lobelia stood there, saying a silent prayer.

 _Lord…Look after him…Keep him safe…_

* * *

The Acting EADA of the District of Manhattan had put out an APB for three trains on one particular track on the New York/Pennsylvania Border.

One train had been found, freight cabin found with blood stains on the floor; Jack McCoy's blood.

So, Detective Mike Logan was sent out yet again; this time all the way down to Alabama; to the small house of Lobelia Smalls and her two sons…

The boys were nervous, as was their mother; and Logan did his best to assuage those fears as Lobelia poured the tea.

"Thank you, Ma'am," he sipped his tea. "No one's in trouble here. I'm working on a Missing Person case from New York,"

He pulled a photo of Jack McCoy out from his wallet, handed it to Lobelia.

She sighed, handed the photo back.

"My boys found him on the train, brought him to me. He had been shot, through the chest. I sewed him up, kept him here as long as I could, so he would recover. But he had to leave. That man just would not stay put."

"That sounds like Jack all right," Logan's throat tightened. "He took off?"

"Yes," Lobelia nodded. "He had to go to Canada."

" _Canada?"_ Logan's hand jerked, spilling tea all over the table. His hands shook as he tried to wipe it all up. Lobelia took over, gracefully cleaning everything off. Then she laid gentle fingers atop his.

"This is more than just a case for you, isn't it?"

Logan let out a long slow breath.

"Guilty as charged," he sighed. "We go back quite a few years."

 _Over twenty years now…_

"Then there's something you should know," Lobelia kept her hand on his.

"Something… _wounded_ Jack, worse than a bullet through his chest. Whatever it was, it… _wiped_ him, wiped him clean."

" _Wiped…"_ Logan didn't like the sound of that, what it seemed to imply…

"He doesn't remember much of anything, Detective Logan. He knew his first name, but he didn't tell me his last name; probably because he doesn't remember it. He's been having nightmares too, every night, about two girls, Lainie and Claire, and…are you all right?"

"Damn…" Logan muttered softly. "Didn't know it was that bad…"

 _Claire Kincaid…_

Logan had known her. Her sudden death-at the hands of a drunk driver-had sent everyone into a tailspin…

 _Especially Jack…_

There had been rumors of an interoffice romance.

So, Jack McCoy…

He had come perilously close to crashing and burning. But Adam had been there…

 _To give Jack a much-needed kick in the ass…_

Eventually, Jack had sorted himself out; much to everyone's relief.

 _But Claire's death was almost twenty years ago…_

As for Lainie...

"Those two girls…" Lobelia spoke hesitantly.

"They're both dead," Logan's voice came out harsh. He patted her hand to take the sting out.

"Ah…" Lobelia sighed sadly. "I understand now…"

"You… _do_?" Logan gave a disbelieving laugh. "Because I sure don't."

"You have to find your friend, Detective Logan. Something _broke_ that man, broke him right down the middle. If you don't find him, he'll find an early grave. Mark my words. Find him, and bring him home."


	6. Chapter 6

Angels and Ministers of Grace

Chapter 6

Detective Mike Logan lay back on the lumpy motel mattress…

 _If I lie down now, I'll sleep the rest of the day away…_

He sighed, forced himself to sit, aching muscles twinging their protest.

His cellphone lay on the bedside table, quietly charging.

He picked it up, dialed a number…

In the wake of jack McCoy's abrupt disappearance, Arthur Branch had given Adam Schiff the use of Jack McCoy's office.

Jack McCoy's office was being used to locate…Jack McCoy.

If the situation hadn't been so serious, so… _frightening_ , Logan might have been amused by the irony.

It was Jack McCoy's office number he was dialing to contact Adam Schiff.

"Hello, Mike," Adam Schiff picked up. "Any news?"

"Yeah…" Logan stretched as he spoke. "Jack _was_ shot. According to Lobelia Smalls, the woman who treated him, it was a through-and-through gunshot to the chest."

"But she got to him in time," Adam sighed in relief. "He's okay…"

"From what I gather, _physically_ , he's okay…"

Logan faltered.

 _How do I tell Adam that one of his best friends may have gone off the deep end?_

"Mike, quit procrastinating…"

A hint of irritation in Adam's voice.

"Okay…" Logan took a deep breath, steeled himself, let the words come out…"

"According to Lobelia Smalls, Jack's lost it… His memory, any idea of who he was before. She said he only knew his first name. She said the girl's death-Lainie-may have done something to him. She said it… _wiped_ him."

"Jack's tougher than that!" Schiff snapped. "He's seen death before. He witnessed an execution, for god's sake!"

"Yeah…" Logan nodded. "An adult white male who apparently had no remorse for his actions. Not a twelve-year-old _child_. As for the execution he witnessed… I'm not any great shrink or anything; but wasn't that the day Claire Kincaid died?"

He heard Schiff sigh over the phone.

"All I'm saying, Adam, is that _something_ happened to Jack out here. Lobelia is kind of like the Local Wise Woman for her neighborhood. She doesn't seem the kind of woman who would say things are one way when they're another way entirely. If she says something hinky happened to Jack, I'm inclined to agree…"

"Dear god…"

"What do you want me to do, Adam?"

"Head home, Mike," he heard Schiff's sigh.

"Okay, boss," Logan lay back on the bed. "See you soon."

Logan sighed as he stared up at the ceiling.

 _I can sleep on the plane…_

* * *

 _Raleigh, NC_

Jack's luck had held for the next few days. It was only now, with the train stopping at the Raleigh Main Train Station, that his luck ran out.

Sneaking off the train as quietly as possible.

"Hey! Stop!"

Jack ran, hearing the yelling right behind him. He tried to run faster, breath burning in his lungs. Something tackled him from behind, knocking him down to the ground, the breath slammed right out of his lungs.

Someone pulled his arms back, cuffed his wrists together, and Jack froze…

 _Stay small…don't resist…_

Hauled to his knees, two Transit Cops looking down at him, Jack felt despair.

They took him to the local jail, processed him, took photos and fingerprints, the whole enchilada, and then sat him down in an interrogation chamber.

 _Be small…don't resist…_

Now, at least, his hands were now cuffed in front.

One of the cops who had arrested him entered the room, with two cups of…coffee..?

The man, roughly in his twenties, set one of the cups in front of Jack, sat down, sipping the other cup.

"It's okay, buddy," the man said. "It's just coffee."

Hesitantly, he took the cup in his cuffed hands, sipped cautiously.

After about a minute, the man put his coffee down.

"Don't you have any idea how dangerous rail-riding is?" he spoke urgently. "Gangs of young thugs ride the rails too, and they eat sweet old guys like you for breakfast."

"I have to go to Canada," Jack said.

Really, it was the only thing that mattered right now.

"Lainie gave me something to take to Haven."

"Lainie…" the man hunched forward. "Where is Lainie?"

 _Dead blue eyes, bloody hands, reaching up…_

Jack felt the tremors run through his body, tears pricking his eyes.

"Not here," he whispered. "Not here…"

The Transit cop sighed.

"My name is Randy Talbot," he said. "What's yours?"

 _My name…_

"J-jack…"

He hoped it would be enough…

"Jack…" Talbot shook his head. "Jack… _what?_ Smith? Jones? What's your last name?"

Jack sat frozen. Did he even have one of those?

He cast his mind back, searching for anything that might qualify, and a name tumbled out of the stormy black maelstrom that lay at the back of his brain.

 _Briscoe?_

* * *

 _1 Hoban Place_

Adam Schiff looked Detective Mike Logan over. The man looked like hell, and no wonder…

 _Traipsing all over the map at a moment's notice. No wonder he's weary; and here I am, about to send him off again…_

Logan apparently saw it in Adam Schiff's eyes.

" _Again?"_ he groaned.

"FIPP actually came through," Schiff said. "Jack was arrested in Raleigh, North Carolina, yesterday afternoon, on charges of Vagrancy, under the name of Jack…Briscoe."

Logan stood there, eyes wide.

" _Briscoe?_ What…the…fuck?"

"Yes," Schiff nodded. "Jack Briscoe. So, you're off to Raleigh; and this time, you won't be traveling alone. Abbie, at least, is fresh…"

* * *

 _Raleigh, NC_

"What the fuck do you mean, he's _gone!"_ Mike Logan slammed the table with an angry fist. "You had him yesterday!"

Abbie Carmichael couldn't fault his anger.

 _We keep on missing him…_

"We thought he was just an eccentric, harmless weirdo," Officer Talbot apologized. "We didn't know he was your missing EADA, Jack McCoy."

Abbie laid a gentle hand on Logan's shoulder, felt the tense muscles there.

"When did Jack leave?" she asked Talbot.

"Less than an hour ago. We gave him a little extra cash for a train ticket."

"Canada," Logan sighed, rubbing his eyes.

" _Ottawa_ , to be exact, Detective Logan. That particular train doesn't come all that often. I told Jack he could end up waiting for a long time."

Abbie felt a jolt of hope course through her.

"He could still be there?"

"Yeah…" Talbot nodded. "He could still be there, waiting on that train."

* * *

Here, at Raleigh's main train station, looking for the appropriate track…

They had called ahead; the train in question wasn't due for a few more hours yet.

 _Jack's still here…_

Walking along with all the countless throngs of commuters, Carmichael found her way to the correct trace. She knew Mike Logan was shadowing her, at a distance.

She couldn't actually _see_ him, too many people here. But she could hear his breathing through the cellphone at her ear…

There was a small group already waiting for the train; a young married couple, a handful of twenty-somethings, and an older man, wearing jeans, and a denim jacket, backpack on his shoulders. His back was to her, but Carmichael could see messy gray hair straggling out from under his hat.

"Mike…" she whispered.

"I see him," Logan's voice came over the phone. "It's your call, how we play this…"

"Okay…"

Taking a deep breath, Carmichael strode up, touched the man gently on the shoulder. He turned…

Jack McCoy…bearded and shaggy…not-quite-sane look to the eyes. All Abbie felt was joy…

"Jack!" she threw her arms around him, hugged him tightly, and felt him flinch.

"Sorry…" she stepped back to take him in, hands still caressing his shoulders. "We were all worried about you, Jack. Adam came home from Europe when he heard what happened."

Jack tilted his head, eyes blinking oddly. It was just a little eerie…

"Claire?"

His voice trembled a little.

"No," Carmichael took his hand. "I'm _Abbie_. Don't you remember me?"

Jack's eyes, and his mind, were already wandering.

"I'm going to Canada," he announced, adjusting his backpack. "Are you coming too, Claire?"

Carmichael felt sick to her stomach.

 _Mike tried to warn us…_

She gently gripped his shoulders.

"I'm not Claire," she said. "Jack…Claire is dead."

She could see it hit him…

 _As it had all those years ago, when Adam first told him the news…_

Caressing his shoulders, trying to bring him back…

"Jack," she pleaded. "You need rest. Let me take you home…"

"No…" Jack suddenly pushed her away, terror… _rage_ , in him, in his eyes...

"You're lying!" he hissed.

He ran…

Carmichael blinked the tears away, spoke into her phone.

"He's running, Mike…"

"I'm on it, Abbie…"

* * *

"Fuck!" Logan snarled as he put his phone away. He could see Jack McCoy in the distance, heading in his general direction…

What Logan was about to do…he had done literally a thousand times over…so routine by now, it was almost second nature…

 _How to apprehend a fleeing suspect…_

He waited patiently, seemingly _very_ interested in the wall in front of him, waiting until Jack McCoy was in reaching distance. Then, his training took over…

 _Grab the perp, slam him into the wall, right foot out to trip the perp, and bring him down…_

He had Jack McCoy slammed down to the floor, wrists cuffed behind, inside of a minute. As Lennie-God rest his soul-might have said, _Badda-bing, badda-boom…_

But… _this_ wasn't routine. This wasn't a perp, or a suspect.

This was EADA Jack McCoy…

Logan's eyes were burning.

"I'm sorry…" he whispered.

* * *

"Please…"

Jack McCoy, strapped down on a hospital bed, restraints at wrists, elbows, waist, knees, and ankles. It still took four men to hold him down…

"I have to go to Canada," he was still trying to twist out of the restraints. "I have to get to Haven!"

Over his pleas, Abbie Carmichael could hear the men-male Nursing Aides under the direction of the Nurse in Charge.

"His heart's going one fifty," one Aide snarled. "Gotta put him down now! Where's the fucking needle?"

"It's ready now," the Nurse in Charge said. "I need a shoulder…"

All through this, Jack was jerking and struggling against the restraints, against the men too, babbling about Canada, Haven, Lainie…and Claire.

One of the Aides opened Jack's shirt, pushing the collar back, leaving the shoulder bare…

The Nurse in Charge injected the needle, plunger pushing in…

Jack must have felt the needle, must have known what it meant. A dry sob shook him…

"Please…" he whispered, the drug beginning to take him down. "I need…Lainie gave me…"

His eyes fluttered shut, body relaxing, heart and breathing beginning to even out.

The Aides relaxed their hold on him. Then, one Aide spread Jack's shirt open, started placing electrodes on his ribcage as another fitted nasal cannulas into his nose.

 _They're putting him on oxygen…_

"What's wrong?" Carmichael demanded.

"Probably nothing," the Nurse in Charge said. "But Mr. McCoy isn't a young man, and his heart is still racing a little. Better safe than sorry, right?"

 _I need to call Adam…_

She couldn't bring herself to do it just yet.

She stepped out into the hall, saw Mike Logan standing there. He look every bit as shell-shocked as she felt.

She looked back at the room, at the Aides, still working on Jack McCoy.

"I had to put cuffs on him…" Logan sounded like she felt.

Numb with grief.

She threw her arms around him.

"You did what you had to, Mike. Jack didn't give you a choice,"

"Yeah…"

Logan's arms went around her too.

"I fucking hate this…" he muttered.

"Me too…" she laid her head against his chest. "Me too…"


	7. Chapter 7

Angels and Ministers of Grace

Chapter 7

 _Raleigh, North Carolina_

"Adam…it's not good," Abbie Carmichael, on the phone with Adam Schiff. "Mike's right. They had to put Jack in restraints."

She heard Schiff sigh over the line.

"I'm coming down…"

"Stay there, Adam," Abbie cut in. "We've made arrangements for Jack to be transported to Bellevue. I'll call you when we get there."

"All right…" Schiff sighed again. "How is he?"

"He's asleep right now," Abbie looked at Jack McCoy, still strapped down, cannulas still in his nose.

"Call me if there's a change," Schiff ordered.

"I will." Abbie sighed.

Adam Schiff hung up. Abbie bent over Jack McCoy.

Still in sedated slumber, gray hair tousled, falling into his eyes. Softly, Abbie smoothed it back.

 _Who did this to you?_

Dr. Alport entered the private room, spent a few minutes doing what doctors generally do; checking pulse, blood pressure, breathing…

"Damn…" he muttered.

"What's wrong?" Abbie felt alarm shiver its way up her spine.

"Mr. McCoy's pulse," Alport sighed. "It's still too high. I don't like seeing this in _anyone_ , let alone a man over sixty years of age."

"Could it kill him?" Abbie was stroking McCoy's shoulder.

"If we can't get his heart to slow down to a normal pace? Yes, Ms. Carmichael; it could kill him."

* * *

 _It's a lovely little park, with wooden picnic tables strewn across grassy fields._

 _Lainie and Claire, sitting together at a picnic table, like Mother and Daughter, smiling up at Jack._

 _Jack feels awful._

 _ **I failed**_ _, he tells them both. He knows his failure; even in his dream he can feel his failure in the straps holding his body down._

 _Canada lies further away than ever now._

 _Unreachable…_

 _Unattainable…_

 _ **Claire…**_ _he begs._ _ **Help me…**_

 _Claire smiles and nods, but has no words to give him…_

 _She has an arm around Lainie's shoulder, and it's Lainie, with her dead blue eyes and her bloody hands, who speaks, with the voice of a multitude…_

 _ **All that you need lies within you,**_ _she tells him._ _ **Don't be afraid, Jack.**_

 _But Jack is afraid; afraid of failing Lainie, afraid of the woman who isn't Claire._

 _Most of all, he's afraid of that feral…something…that lies deep within him._

 _Lainie lays a bloody hand on his shoulder, gently caressing…_

 _ **Wake up, Jack,**_ _she says._ _ **Do what you have to…**_

Jack opened his eyes.

A woman was sitting by his bed, bending over him. Not-Claire…

"Jack…"

Jack felt her hand, not bloody, on his shoulder. Something was in his nose, both nostrils, and he wanted it-whatever it was-out. It itched.

Not-Claire continued to talk, hand gently caressing his shoulder.

"We're taking you home, Jack. Adam's been worried sick over you…"

She hesitated.

"You remember Adam…don't you?"

An almost-image flitted through Jack's mind, gone in a flash, back into the dark that lay at the back of his brain.

"Oh… _Jack…"_ Sorrow in Not-Claire's voice and eyes. "Not Adam…you can't have forgotten _him…"_

Dead blue eyes and bloody hands…

There was no room for memory in Jack; apart from what Lainie had given him to carry to Canada…

 _Something_ began to build up deep within him…

* * *

Abbie Carmichael continued to stroke Jack's shoulder, tears blurring her vision.

 _How could Jack forget Adam?_

They had been close, more like a father and his son than associates, or even colleagues.

Jack McCoy forgetting Adam Schiff was like exchanging day for night.

Jack was lying there, looking up at the ceiling with hopeless eyes, lips moving soundlessly.

"Jack," Abbie asked. "Who are you talking to?"

"Lainie…" Jack whispered. He closed his eyes…

Then…

There was a _snap_ …a _crackle_ …and the smell of ozone.

Light flared, blindingly brilliant, searing Abbie's retinas. She reared backward, chair shifting out from under her. She hit the floor with a thud, scrambled backward.

Hauling herself up, still blinded by dazzle, she reached out for Jack, groping across the bed.

The bed was empty.

Jack McCoy was gone.

Again…

* * *

The entire hospital was in an uproar, so no one stopped Detective Mike Logan as he ran through the hospital halls, running like a madman, all the way to Jack McCoy's room.

Abbie Carmichael was there, grief and fear etching lines into her face. Dr. Alport what there, and so was Officer Talbot.

"What happened?" Logan demanded.

"Jack… _disappeared_ ," Abbie was wringing her hands. "He literally disappeared, right in front of my eyes."

Logan looked at the bed. The restraints were still in place.

" _How?"_ he gestured at the restraints. "Look at them. Jack didn't undo them. How did he get out of them?"

"He _teleported_ ," Alport spoke grimly. "We knew he was an Evo, but it never occurred to us that he could do that. Someone also stole Mr. McCoy's clothes from Hospital Storage. I'm willing to bet it was Mr. McCoy himself…"

Sudden, blinding fury whipped through Mike Logan. It burnt itself out in a matter of seconds…

Left him feeling…clear in his mind for the first time since all of… _this_ …had started.

He knew what to do now…

He turned to Officer Talbot.

"I need hiking clothes," he said. "Can the Undercover Unit get me what I need?"

"Mike…" Abbie spoke up. "What are you thinking of doing?"

Logan held up a hand, still looking at Talbot.

"Do you have people guarding the train tracks?" he asked.

"Yeah…" Talbot nodded. "Especially the one for Canada. Mr. McCoy hasn't been seen there."

"Jack won't go there now," Logan was certain now. "He knows we'll be there, waiting for him. He's going to _walk_ to Canada. And I'm gonna follow him, try to catch up with him."

"That's dangerous, Mike!" Abbie interjected. "You could get yourself killed!"

"So could Jack, Abbie."

"What do I do?" it was almost a wail of despair.

"Look, Abbie," Logan put both hands on Abbie's shoulders, shook her gently. "We'll be tracking Jack two different ways; you on the high road, me on the low road. We'll have a better chance of finding him if we do it this way…"

* * *

Back at Raleigh's precinct house…

Abbie Carmichael put her cellphone away. Her call to Adam Schiff had gone far better than she had expected.

 _Mike wants to…_ _ **what?**_

Abbie had been able to bring Adam around, as much as the notion terrified her.

 _Mike's tough…he's strong…_

Certainly, he was in better shape than Jack McCoy was.

 _If we don't find Jack soon, bring him home…_

Logan's plan reeked of desperation. But that was fine.

 _We_ _ **are**_ _desperate…_

Mike Logan was already dressed and ready to go; heavy jeans, leather jacket over work shirt, sturdy boots on his feet, fully stocked backpack on his shoulders.

"Adam told me to tell you you're insane," she said.

"So Lennie always told me…" Logan pulled a cap over his dark hair, waggled his eyebrows at her.

"How do I look?"

"Utterly gorgeous…" Abbie managed a wan smile.

Logan hugged her, kissed her cheek.

"Wish me luck," he said.

"Happy hunting, Mike. Be careful."

Logan nodded. Then he turned away, walked out of the building.

Abbie Carmichael stood there, praying silently.

 _Look after both of them, Lord; Jack and Mike. Bring both of them home to us…_


	8. Chapter 8

Angels and Ministers of Grace

Chapter 8

 _1 Hogan Place_

Adam Schiff and Darren Marth were both waiting when Abbie Carmichael got back.

"Hope Detective Logan doesn't get in over his head," Adam grumbled as he hugged her.

"Mike knows how to take care of himself," Abbie laid a hand on Schiff's shoulder.

Adam took one of her hands.

"Abbie…how was Jack?"

Abbie had been crying on and off through the entire return trip; and Abbie thought, by now, that she would have run out of tears.

But Adam's question, the worry in his eyes, and Jack…as he had been the last time she had seen him, strapped down to that bed…

She blinked fresh tears out of her eyes, tried to keep her voice steady.

"Jack doesn't remember… _anything_ ," she resolutely wiped the tears away. "He doesn't even remember you, Adam. I'm so sorry…"

That rocked Adam. Abbie could see it in the paling of his skin, the horror, and…grief in his eyes.

"I'm sorry," she said again as she hugged him. "Mike warned us…"

"Yes," Adam patted her shoulder, sighed. "He's out there, alone, with no one to protect him."

"That's why Mike's doing this," Abbie reminded him. "If we can do FIPP Searches on both Jack and Mike, maybe we'll find Jack again."

 _Hopefully alive…_

* * *

On the road again, heading for Canada, Jack was certain he was being followed…

He moved, as quickly and quietly as he could; afraid _they_ were tracking him, flitting from tree to tree in the chilly night, with only the Moon to light his way.

 _Canada…_

 _Haven…_

Jack _felt_ that location as a physical thing, pulsing in his head and chest; a… _connection_ that tied him directly to his destination.

But he was frightened…

Terrified.

Renautas was still after him, after what he carried, what Lainie had given him before her…

Before…

He shivered.

Dead blue eyes and bloody hands…

But she had given… _it_ to him, and now he carried it, as Lainie had before him.

It was _his_ to carry now, to bring to Canada, to Haven.

Jack heard a twig snap, froze, like prey faced by the predator.

Moonlight shining on four men with guns…

Jack ran, a gunshot rang out. He ducked, still running, and his right ankle folded under him. He fell, stars exploding in his skull…

* * *

 _Four Renautas agents stepped forward, weapons still out._

" _That easy?" one asked as another walked up, bent to check for a pulse._

" _Dead?" the first man asked._

" _No," the second man said._

" _You're fucking kidding! How many bullets does it take to kill one old man?"_

" _We didn't hit him," the second man looked up. "He hit his head on a rock when he fell."_

" _So..?"_

" _So…" the second man stood over the fallen victim, drew his gun. "We finish what the rock started, go home and get paid."_

* * *

Detective Mike Logan continued moving in the silent darkness, an odd feeling of alarm prickling down his spine. It had been four days since Jack McCoy had escaped from a bed in the Psych Ward in a Raleigh hospital.

Now, Logan was walking on, and urgent feeling of… _dread_ , filling his mind.

 _Am I even on the right track?_

Logan couldn't explain it, this feeling of certainty…

 _Jack McCoy is up ahead of me…somewhere…_

Mike Logan stood there, breath missing in the chill air. Then he heard the gunshot, up ahead…

Gun drawn, he ran toward the sound, eyes and ears straining…

Four men, standing over a fifth; the fifth sprawled face down on the ground, moonlight shining on silver hair…

One of the men drew a gun, aimed downward, right at the unconscious man's head.

 _No!_

Logan aimed and fired, taking the gunman and one other man down. The other two scattered…

Logan dodged as bullets shredded tree leaves around him.

He rolled behind a tree, checked the ammo, slid a new cartridge in, and listened carefully. A snapping twig was his only warning…

He threw himself down, bullets pocking the tree behind him.

Two figures backlit by the moon. He fired back, saw both figures stagger and fall.

Cautiously, Logan approached, checked both bodies; both dead. He turned to check the other two. Those were dead too…

Quickly, Logan took their guns and ammo, certain he would need them. Then, he ran over to the fifth man, fearing the worst…

Jack McCoy, alive, blood flowing from a nasty gash at his left temple.

Logan ran his hands gently over McCoy's body, searching for injuries.

 _Not shot…thank the Lord…_

McCoy stirred uneasily under his hands, curling in upon himself.

"Shh, Jack…It's okay," Logan soothed him as best he could, fingers probing the bloody gash at his temple.

 _Bleeding freely…but not too deep…_

Logan sighed as he dug his First Aid Kit out of his backpack. It only took a minute or two to clean and bandage the wound.

The _click-buzz_ of a communicator startled him.

 _Team Two report in. Have you found the Evo?_

He listened, Jack McCoy unconscious in his arms.

 _Team Two! Please report!_

Logan looked down at Jack McCoy.

"Damn…" he muttered.

He would have to move now. Soon, the entire area would be flooded with Renautas agents.

He stood, Jack McCoy balanced on a shoulder, both backpacks slung over the other shoulder. Then, he moved off as quickly as possible. He needed to put as much distance as possible between himself, and the…crime-scene…

* * *

His head hurt…throbbing…pulsing.

Jack curled up into a fetal position, felt a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"It's okay, Jack," a voice spoke softly. "You're safe now."

Jack opened his eyes, saw the man bending down over him. Hands gently touched his head, concerned eyes looking down at him.

Jack moved to sit, head spinning. The man held him steady, hands on both shoulders.

"How are you feeling, Jack?"

Jack peered at him suspiciously.

"I have to go to Canada…" he spoke uncertainly.

"So I've heard…" the man sighed. "Why?"

"I have to go!" Jack hauled himself to his feet. The world went sideways, and the man caught him, eased him down, holding him close.

"You're not going anywhere, Jack. You need to rest."

Despair welled up, tears in Jack's eyes.

"You're not going to let me go, are you?" he bowed his head.

"It's dangerous, Jack," the man continued to hold him. "You could get killed."

* * *

Mike Logan had never expected to see, or experience, this…

Jack McCoy crying in his arms, crying like a lost child.

As closely as he was holding McCoy, he could clearly feel the man's pulse, heart pounding like a drum…

Logan tried to comfort the distraught man.

"Shh, Jack…" he felt awkward as he spoke. "It's gonna be all right."

 _God…his heart is going way too fast…_

"Jack… _Why_ do you have to go to Canada?"

"Lainie…" McCoy mumbled. "She gave me something…"

"Lainie?"

 _Elaine Drury…_

Still keeping one arm around McCoy, Logan drew Jack's backpack over. McCoy stopped him, shuddering as his hands fluttered up to his head.

" _Here…"_ McCoy touched his head, shaking uncontrollably. "I have to take it to Canada…"

That was when Detective Mike Logan realized the truth…

 _He'll die if I try to take him home…_

He sighed.

"Adam's gonna kill me…" he muttered softly.

 _No choice…_

Logan sighed again.

"Okay, Jack…I'm gonna help you get to Canada…"

He felt the shudder of relief that passed through McCoy's body, the dramatic slowing of his pulse…

 _I'll be damned…_

He continued to hold Jack McCoy, until the man fell asleep. Then, he wrapped his own jacket around him, and laid him down. Jack McCoy didn't even stir.

 _Shit…_

 _I can't take him home. He'll die if I do…_

He laid gentle fingers atop Jack McCoy's chest, felt the beat of his heart.

 _His heart slowed down to normal as soon as I said I would help him get to Canada…_

That made it official.

Mike Logan was going to have to help Jack McCoy get to Canada.

 _Pray he survives the trip…_

Logan looked down at his sleeping friend.

 _How do I tell Adam?_


	9. Chapter 9

Angels and Ministers of Grace

Chapter 9

The next day saw Detective Mike Logan cautiously guide Jack McCoy into Charlottesville, Virginia. He needed supplies for this more difficult, more _dangerous_ trip to Canada; non-perishable food, camping supplies, and more supplies for his First Aid Kit.

 _A blanket for Jack would be nice too…_

Right now, Jack McCoy seemed fine; heart and breathing seemingly normal. But McCoy _was_ over sixty; and this trip would be wearying, even for a young man.

On top of all of that, there was yet a third thing for Mike Logan to worry about…

 _How do I tell Adam Schiff what I'm doing with Jack McCoy?_

He was fairly sure that Renautas was bugging everything.

He snorted.

 _I'm almost as paranoid as John Munch…_

But Renautas…

They were obviously still looking for Jack McCoy, and possibly looking for Mike Logan too.

Logan wasn't a dummy. He was traveling under a different identity.

 _Sal Contarini…_

He hoped Adam Schiff, or Captain Don Cragen, would recognize the name.

Supplies bought, he took Jack McCoy to a small café, got sandwiches and soda, figuring that a little _real_ food would do Jack McCoy a world of good.

Then, it was off to Gordon Avenue Library; where Logan used his Sal Contarini ID to get himself a Temporary Library Card so he could use the library's public computers.

He needed to send an email to Adam Schiff; without alerting nosy Renautas spies…

The email Heading was the easy part. But the text…

How could he tell Adam what he needed to say without alerting Renautas?

Then, he remembered Amy…

Mike Logan had fallen for her, fallen _hard._

Amy had been a hard-core Middle Earth fan-the Hobbit, the Trilogy, the Silmarillion, and all of the movies-and Logan, in mad, passionate love, had followed where she led…

Amy had been able to pound a considerable amount of Middle Earth lore into his skull.

Logan smiled. Now, he knew what to say…

* * *

 _1 Hogan Place_

 _If only you could see this, Jack…_

Every day Adam Schiff spent his day working out of Jack McCoy's office, with Abbie Carmichael and Darren Marth. But it was more than just _them…_

Arthur Branch was constantly poking his head in the door, asking for news…

Anita Van Buren, Danny Ross, and Don Cragen…

Somehow, they had worked out a schedule between the three of them, and one of the trio was always in the office too.

Such love and support shown for their missing EADA.

 _Surely, it would have warmed Jack's heart to see this…_

Today, it was Don Cragen keeping watch with Schiff, and his team.

Schiff's computer screen flicked at him, the icon flashing.

 _You have a new email…_

He opened his email, saw the entry flagged as _new…_

 _Sal Contarini?_

The name was familiar, somehow. He _knew_ it…

Abbie Carmichael looked over his shoulder, shook her head, so no help from Abbie this time.

"What's wrong, Adam?" Cragen asked.

"You ever heard of a…Sal Contarini?" Adam stared at the name in the address field. "It's ringing bells, but I don't remember where or when…"

Cragen almost choked on his coffee.

"You sure about the name?" he sat up straight.

"Yes," Schiff stared at the name. "Sal Contarini. You know it?"

"Yeah…" Cragen sat forward, eyes intent. "It's Detective Mike Logan."

" _Logan?"_

"Before he joined the 27th, Mike did a brief stint with Undercover. I know he's Irish, but he could easily pass for Italian. In the end, he decided Undercover wasn't his cup of tea; although I'm sure almost losing his spleen helped the decision process along."

Abbie Carmichael looking over his shoulder, Adam Schiff looked at the message heading.

 _Finally Found My Idiot Uncle…_

Did that mean what he thought it meant? Had Mike Logan found Jack McCoy?

Schiff opened the email. He frowned at the text…

 _Frodo Lives!_

 _Has One Ring. It's killing him. Has to go to Mount Doom to get rid of it._

 _Had run in with Nazgul; expect more encounters to come._

 _Can't repeat this too often…_

 _ **Frodo will die if he isn't allowed to go to Mount Doom.**_

 _He won't be alone._

 _Every Frodo needs his Samwise…_

"Thank the Lord…" relief was strong in Abbie Carmichael's voice.

"Abbie?"

She sighed.

"You're not going to like this, Adam…" she laid gentle hands on his shoulders.

"I haven't been liking this since it started!" Schiff snapped. " _Tell_ me."

Abbie leaned over, fingers tracing the message on the computer screen.

"Mike's found Jack," she explained. "He's saying that Jack _has_ to go to Canada; that he'll die if he doesn't. But Mike's going with him too, to keep him safe."

"Safe…" Schiff muttered, grief welling up within. Whatever it was that Jack McCoy had, it had already shattered him; into a million pieces.

 _If Jack doesn't survive this, I'll…I'll…_

No.

He wouldn't.

Detective Mike Logan was doing his best to save Jack McCoy.

 _Whatever there was left of Jack to be saved..._

That wonderful, _brilliant_ mind, and that passionate soul.

Would there be a Jack McCoy after all of this was done?

* * *

Mike Logan had decided there would be a day of rest before they set out.

So, there were burgers and fries from the local Mickey D, and a cheap motel with two Twin beds for the night.

In the morning, Breakfast was also from Mickey D, egg muffins and coffee.

Then, it was time to walk to the nearest train tracks.

Freight trains, to be exact.

Logan was sure Renautas would be on the lookout for people boarding passenger trains…

 _Although…if I'm wrong, things will get very bad indeed…_

Luck was with Logan. He found a freight train car with plenty of crates to hide behind.

He hauled Jack McCoy up into the train car, climbed aboard himself, got the older man settled behind the crates, out of sight, and kept watch until the train began to move.

Jack McCoy had already curled up, backpack under his head, drowsing as the train hurtled northward, and Logan sighed in relief.

He pulled a tightly-folded blanket out of his backpack, shook it out; settled it over Jack McCoy, tucking him in.

 _Sleep is good for Jack…_

Logan sat by Jack's side, watching the outside world flash by.

In a way, Jack McCoy's passivity worried him. He had essentially surrendered himself to Logan.

Logan knew that, knew the level of trust McCoy had shown by putting it all in his hands.

It all reminded him of the books Amy had gotten him to read all those years ago.

 _Frodo and Sam…_

Logan sighed.

"We two have got to be the unlikeliest pair of Hobbits ever," he sighed. "Aren't we, Jack?"

No response, of course.

Logan sighed again.

 _Guess that makes me Sam…_


	10. Chapter 10

Angels and Ministers of Grace

Chapter 10

"Fuck!"

Mike Logan cursed, clutching his left shoulder. Jack McCoy, back against a tree, was fine, at least; after yet another run in with Renautas agents. Mike Logan hadn't been quite as lucky this time.

Hissing with the pain, he probed at the gunshot wound in his left shoulder. He _felt_ the bullet, sighed in relief.

 _Not lodged into the bone, at least. Something to be grateful for…_

In the immediate aftermath of the…incident, Logan had ordered Jack McCoy to gather all the guns and ammunition. Then, they had fled the area, seeking a safe place where Logan could…deal with his injury…

Now, here he was, feeling at the bullet at his shoulder. He could dig the damn thing out with a tweezer.

But he would need Jack McCoy's help.

Logan sat himself against a tree, wincing as he pulled the blood-stained shirt up and over his head. Jack McCoy was…hovering nearby…pacing frantically.

"Jack, come over here," Logan beckoned him over. "Gonna need your help, buddy."

McCoy knelt by his side, staring at the blood, at the gunshot wound.

"I don't know how to take bullets out," Jack was trembling.

"I do," Logan assured him. "But I need you to hold me steady."

McCoy nodded uncertainly.

"I can do that," he finally said.

"Good…" again, Logan looked at the wound. The bullet was _right there_. He wouldn't have to dig too deep. He picked up the tweezer, and took a deep breath.

"Okay, Jack," he smiled tightly. "Here's what I want you to do…"

Jack McCoy seemed to get the idea. Hesitantly, he wrapped his arms around Mike Logan, immobilizing the left arm and shoulder, leaving the right arm free. Now, Mike Logan could dig the bullet out.

 _Oh…joy._

"You're doing well, Jack," he murmured. "Just hang on to me, buddy…"

This wasn't going to be fun at all…

Sighing, Logan got to work with the tweezers.

It hurt…oh… _god…_ it hurt…

But, finally, the bullet lay in his trembling hand. It slipped from his fingers as he laid his head on Jack McCoy's shoulder, breath coming in shuddering gasps. Logan just wanted to close his eyes and _rest._

 _Not yet…_

"Jack, get my First Aid Kit."

It was out, just a few feet away, but Logan was in no condition to get it himself…

McCoy let go, and Logan leaned back against the tree as the other man retrieved the kit. The worst part was over. All that remained was to clean and bandage the wound.

Logan sighed as he pulled on a clean shirt, watched Jack McCoy pick up the old shirt and stuff it into his backpack.

He put the hydrogen peroxide away along with the bandages, hauled himself back to his feet. He reeled, would have fallen, but Jack McCoy caught him, held him steady.

"Thanks, Jack," Logan leaned on McCoy. "We gotta move, buddy."

All their gear was packed and ready to go.

He sighed. Jack McCoy was carrying both backpacks now, and probably would for the next couple of days.

 _How do I keep us alive?_

 _How do I keep McCoy alive?_

If Jack McCoy died…

Well…Logan was fairly sure _he_ would be dead first. But if Jack died…

 _That would break Adam's heart…_

* * *

 _1 Hogan Place_

Adam Schiff was on-edge today, and even Anita Van Buren's presence wasn't helping. It had been over a week since _Sal Contarini_ had sent him that email; and, after that lone email…

 _Nothing…Zip…Zilch…and Nil…_

Schiff sighed.

 _Now, I'm worrying over both of them…_

The office door opened, and Abbie Carmichael walked in, followed by Darren Marth.

"Any news?" Schiff demanded.

"Nothing from FIPP, Adam," Marth replied. "But Ms. Carmichael has some news."

Abbie looked grim.

" _More_ bad news?" Schiff looked up at her.

 _Please…no deaths…_

"A team of Renautas agents was killed last night, in Pennsylvania," Abbie explained. "The bullets were traced to Mike Logan's gun. No sign of him, or Jack…"

She paused briefly.

"The local _CSUs_ think one of them may have been shot," she continued. "There were indications of…field surgery…about an hour's walk away. A bullet was found there; the blood seems to suggest it was Mike who caught the bullet."

Adam Schiff wanted to lay his head down and weep.

 _When is this going to end? With both Jack and Mike dead?_

He threw down his pen in disgust.

"There's _nothing_ we can do to help them?"

Silence reigned. Then, Lieutenant Van Buren cleared her throat.

"In his email to you," she said. "Mike referenced the Lord of the Rings Trilogy…"

"Which I've never read…" Schiff sighed.

"Okay," Van Buren said. "I'll explain. Frodo and Sam had to take the Ring to Mount Doom, in Mordor. But this didn't happen in a vacuum. They had the hardest part, getting the Ring where it had to go; but they weren't alone. They had friends… _allies_ …who did everything in their power to help Frodo and Sam get where they had to go."

"So, what do we do?" Darren Marth asked. "Establish a grapevine?"

"Yes!" Van Buren nodded. "You have contacts among the Evos, don't you, Darren? Send the message out through the grapevine. Let them know Jack and Mike need help to get them both to Canada, to…Haven, I think it is?"

Marth was smiling.

"How did you know?" he asked.

"Takes one to know one," Van Buren was smiling too. "Let's do our best to help our friends."

Nodding, Darren Marth stepped out of the office, and Adam Schiff was left wondering what the hell he had just missed.

Not that it mattered. Only Jack McCoy and Mike Logan mattered.

 _Getting the two of them safely home…_

* * *

 _Mike Logan, sitting on a bench in a Manhattan park._

" _You know…" Lennie Briscoe strode up, sat next to him. "You have an unparalleled talent for dropping yourself right into the soup."_

" _It's Jack McCoy," Logan shrugged. "Tell me you wouldn't have done the same."_

" _Yeah…" Lennie nodded, voice heavy with sarcasm. "Like getting yourself killed is going to help the Counselor. When did you forget how to duck?"_

" _They caught me by surprise, Lennie," Logan objected._

" _So…_ _ **Be Careful!**_ _" Lennie scolded. "If you die, the Counselor is going to be right up shit creek, and you know it! He cannot do this on his own. You die,_ _ **he**_ _dies. So, don't get yourself killed, Mike."_

" _It's not my plan to get killed, Lennie," Logan sighed, heard Briscoe snort. Briscoe poked Logan's shoulder, sending shockwaves of pain passing through his body._

" _Get that looked at Mike," Lennie ordered. "And_ _ **clean**_ _it. You don't want an infection."_

Mike Logan opened his eyes. Early morning, the Sun just beginning to show over the horizon. Logan forced himself to sit, left shoulder screaming in protest.

 _Lennie…Damn…I miss him…_

But _Dream-Lennie_ was right.

Sighing, Logan stripped off his shirt, looked at his shoulder.

 _No infection. Yet…_

More Hydrogen peroxide to clean the wound, and clean bandaging too. That done, he pulled his shirt back on and hauled himself to his feet, only wobbling a little bit this time.

Jack McCoy lay nearby, curled up, trembling, in the throes of a nightmare.

"Claire…" he was muttering her name in his sleep.

 _Great…he's dreaming of Claire again._

"Hey, Jack," Logan knelt, patted McCoy's shoulder. "Wake up, buddy…"

McCoy jerked awake, such despair in tear-stained eyes.

"She's dead…" he whispered. "I couldn't save her…"

"It's just a dream, Jack," Logan hoped there would be someone to help McCoy, if they managed to survive this.

 _Emil Skoda, or Elizabeth Olivet…_

As of now, they had surviving _this_ ahead of them.

McCoy managed to pull himself together.

"Will you need help?" he asked.

"For the next few days, yes," Logan nodded.

After a quick breakfast, the two men headed off, Logan leaning on McCoy for support; heading for Canada, for a place inside Canada.

A place called… _Haven_.


	11. Chapter 11

Angels and Ministers of Grace

Chapter 11

The next month or so proceeded without undue incident; no Renautas agents popping out of nowhere to complicate things for Mike Logan, and the man he was trying to protect…

Logan had briefly debated the possibility of riding the rails. That would have shortened the travel time considerably.

But he was certain Renautas was keeping an eye out on all the tracks, searching for himself, and Jack McCoy.

So, in the end, Logan had decided to _walk_ to Canada. It would take longer. But, if he played his cards right, it would be a safer trip too.

Right now, Mike Logan wasn't exactly sure _where_ they were. He had been forced to depend on Jack McCoy to set the direction. The few times McCoy had actually spoken he had indicated Lainie had put… _something_ …in his head…something he had to bring to a place called _Haven_ , located somewhere in Canada. This thing…whatever it was, was telling McCoy how to get there.

Logan didn't like this…depending on a man whose sanity was, at best, questionable.

He looked Jack McCoy over…

Bearded, silver hair uncut and shaggy, McCoy looked a far cry from the Manhattan EADA he had been when this whole mess had started.

Logan ran a hand through his own hair. He knew he didn't look any better, hair beginning to shag into unruly curls, the scruffy beard showing a little grizzle.

 _It is what it is,_ he sighed. _And we are what we are…_

They were walking a narrow twisty road, trees on either side. Logan was guiding McCoy along, keeping near the trees, relying on the trees for cover.

Jack McCoy, as usual, remained silent. It worried Logan, this silence. It was almost as if-apart from this quest to get to Haven-there wasn't a Jack McCoy in there at all.

When he slept, though, it was a different story entirely.

 _Lainie and Claire…_

 _Claire_ , at least, Mike Logan could understand.

Jack McCoy and Claire Kincaid had been close, perhaps closer than they should have been…

But, it was _Lainie_ who worried Logan, really worried him.

Whatever it was she had put in his head, whatever it was he was trying to bring to Haven, it had driven Jack McCoy right out of his mind…

 _What had she been trying to do?_

But Logan didn't really have to ask that question.

 _Survival…they were just trying to survive. Damn Renautas, damn them all to hell…_

McCoy was walking again, beginning to put on speed.

"Yo, Jack!" Logan moved forward. "Wait up a bit…"

McCoy stopped.

"Don't run ahead of me like that," Logan scolded. "Stay close to me."

McCoy nodded, and the two men headed out again, moving as quietly as possible. Logan _hated_ not knowing exactly where they were, hated that Jack McCoy was incapable of giving coherent directions.

When Logan had tried to press him into giving directions, all Jack had done was point in a vaguely northerly direction.

So, Mike Logan was forced to follow where Jack McCoy led; praying McCoy didn't lead them right into a nest of Renautas Operatives.

He heard the car engine behind, coming up fast.

"Off the road, Jack," Logan grabbed Jack by the arm, began to herd him off the road, making for the grove of trees.

The vehicle was a…hearse, battered-looking and kind of dirty. It pulled to a stop right in front of Logan.

He pulled Jack McCoy behind him, gun out, hidden behind his back. This didn't really feel like Renautas, but he wasn't about to risk his life, or McCoy's, on the possibility he was wrong…

"Hey!" a man poked his head out the passenger side window. "Where are you two headed?"

"We're going to Can-"Jack McCoy stopped when Mike Logan gently stepped on his foot.

"Canada, huh?" the man said. "We're going there too. Hop in. I swear, we don't bite…"

Logan stood there, paranoia warring with the realization that he really did need help to get across the border.

 _Renautas has got to be watching the Canada/US Border like hawks._

Reluctantly, he helped Jack get into the hearse. The man in the passenger side seat gave the seat up for Jack McCoy. _He_ sat with Mike Logan, in the _way back_ , with two-hopefully empty-coffins for company…

Names-first names only-were given.

The driver was Larry, and the other guy was Dave.

"We're heading to Haven," Dave told him. "You guys ever heard of it?"

Logan's jaw dropped.

 _You're fucking kidding me…_

He sat up straight, staring at Dave, torn between hope and fear. Either this was the miracle he had been praying for…

 _Or Jack and I are both dead men…_

Jack McCoy had heard Dave…

"Haven…I have to go there. Lainie gave me-"

"Jack," Logan leaned over, touched McCoy's shoulder. "Loose lips sink ships, buddy…"

"It's okay," now, it was Larry, at the wheel, who spoke. "We have a common friend-Darren Marth. He put the word out. We're to give you all the help you need."

"Darren Marth…"

He remembered Marth.

 _Works for Adam Schiff. He's got to be an okay dude…_

Mike Logan hadn't realized how… _permanent_ the tension in his veins was…until it was gone; leaving a kind of shaky relief shuddering its way through his body.

 _Not alone…Not doing_ _ **this**_ _alone…_

"Where, exactly, are we?" he rubbed his face wearily.

"About five miles from the Canadian Border," Larry brought the hearse to a stop at the side of the road. "And this is where we hide you guys."

"Hide us?"

"I called ahead," Larry spoke grimly. "Renautas is conducting inspections at the border, and they're using tech that can identify Evos, so both you and Jack will be at risk-"

"Hold on there, sport," Logan interrupted. "I'm not an Evo, so-"

"Actually, you _are,_ " Larry looked apologetic. "Some of us Evos can see it. I can, in fact, and you really are an Evo. Hasn't come out yet, but it's in you. No doubt about that."

 _Really?_

Logan sighed, counted to ten.

 _And the shocks just keep on coming…_

"Okay…" he sighed again. "What's your plan to get…two…Evos past Renautas Security?"

"We have two coffins of the finest Poplar," Larry was grinning now. "They also have tech in them, to foul up Renautas' tech, so anyone in the coffin will read as dead, and as a Normal too."

Logan looked back at the two coffins.

"Hell, no…" he turned to Dave. "How the hell are we gonna breathe in there?"

"They both have oxygen tanks," Dave explained. "You and Jack will both be fine…"

* * *

It was the most nerve-wracking two hours Mike Logan had ever experienced, lying there, oxygen mask covering his nose and mouth, unable to see, or hear, what was going on outside.

Jack McCoy had lain himself down in his coffin, seemingly without a worry or care in the world. It was the most absolute expression of pure… _trust_ …that Logan had ever seen.

Logan had lain himself down with considerably less trust than McCoy. His gun lay in his hand, his hand lying across his chest. If betrayal _was_ in the offing, Mike Logan wasn't going down without a fight…

The hearse engine had started up again, the engine rumbling through his body as the hearse began to move.

In absolute dark, all Logan could do was pray…

He jerked to full awareness as the hearse rolled to a stop, heard the back door open, and the sound of hands working the coffin lid.

He closed his eyes to slits as brilliant light flooded his senses.

"It's okay," Larry was bending over him. "We got past the border guards."

Logan got out of his coffin, moved to help Dave open Jack McCoy's coffin. McCoy was awake, eyes open, staring up.

"It's okay, buddy," Logan reassured him. "Time to get up and get moving."

Larry's hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"Bad news," the man said. "There are a few Renautas teams in Canada too, and we may have caught their attention. Dave and I will have to lead them away from you and Jack."

He handed a folded map to Logan.

"Haven's a few days away on foot," he explained as Dave helped McCoy out of the coffin, set him gently on his feet.

"Thank you," Logan put the folded map in his jacket pocket, grabbed his, and McCoy's backpacks. Then he turned back to his…rescuers.

"Be careful," he warned them. "Those Renautas bastards are stone cold killers."

"We know," Dave sighed as he and Larry closed the hearse's back door, and got back into the hearse. Larry gunned the engine as Dave rolled the window down.

"Start running now, Mike," he said. "Start running, and don't stop for anything."

That was when Mike Logan _knew_ what they were going to do. He swallowed sudden tears back as he grabbed Jack McCoy by an arm and began to run.

He heard the hearse speed off in a spray of gravel and screaming tires…

 _Fuck…fuck…fuck…_

A minute later, he heard the sound of gunfire… _automatics_ …and, also, the sound of… _thunder_.

Jack McCoy had come to a halt, was looking back, eyes wide.

" _Run_ , Jack!" Logan yelled as he grabbed McCoy's arm again.

They fled the scene. Gunfire erupting…to be answered by lightning and thunder

He turned back, in time to see something flash…

Back there, where Larry and David's hearse had gone…

Pure, white light, so pure it dimmed the sun, so hot it seared Logan's retinas, turning everything into hot white light…

He threw up his hands to shield his eyes, as the shock waves blasted him right off his feet, more shock waves pressing him down into the soil.

Then…the world was still…

Logan lay there, just breathing, trying to bring himself awake.

 _Jack!_

The world was still…so still…

Even the birds were silent.

Logan pushed himself up onto trembling hands and knees.

Jack McCoy lay only a few feet away, curled up into a fetal position.

"Jack…" Logan crawled over, lay a hand on his shoulder. "You okay, buddy?"

McCoy's body jerked at Logan's touch.

"They…they're…gone…" he whimpered, curling up tight. "Gone…"

"I know, buddy…" Logan sighed. "We gotta run, Jack. We gotta go now, or it'll be us next time…"

He hauled Jack McCoy back to his feet, herded him along, putting as much speed into it as possible.

Larry and Dave…

Those two men had sacrificed themselves, offered up their lives…

 _For Jack McCoy and me…_


	12. Chapter 12

Angels and Ministers of Grace

Chapter 12

Mike Logan was keeping a watchful eye on Jack McCoy as the two men continued on toward Haven. It was now early evening now, still the day where Larry and Dave…

Logan sighed.

 _They died to keep us safe…_

In the immediate aftermath of the…battle…Logan and McCoy had fled, headlong, putting as much distance as possible between them, and… _that._

Now, several hours later, Jack McCoy was beginning to run out of energy.

He stumbled a few times, Logan putting a hand out to keep him on his feet.

 _We can't stop yet. Too close still. Renautas will find us if we stop now…_

Jack McCoy stumbled again, tripping over his own feet, falling flat on his face. He tried to haul himself back up, but it was clear to Logan that he was spent.

 _Guess we stop for the night after all…_

"Easy, Jack…" he knelt, checked McCoy's pulse and breathing.

 _Yeah…he's tapped out…_

He hauled McCoy over his shoulder, headed for a grove of trees, seeking shelter for the night.

"Sleep, Jack," he wrapped his friend in the blanket, laid him down for the night.

McCoy curled up under the blanket, asleep in minutes. Logan sighed as he sat back against a tree, keeping silent watch…

"I'm afraid, Lainie…"

Logan jerked awake at the sound of Jack McCoy's voice.

The early morning sun was just peering over the horizon.

Logan's neck and back hurt; the price for sleeping propped against a tree…

"I don't know what to do, Lainie…"

Jack McCoy, still curled up under the blanket…

 _Talking in his sleep…_

Logan sighed, pulled himself to his feet, aching muscles and vertebrae screaming in protest.

 _Guess I'm not a kid anymore…_

McCoy continued to mutter in his sleep as Logan stretched, working kinks out of neck and spine.

That done, he walked over, bent and laid gentle hands on McCoy's shoulder.

"It's a dream, buddy," he said. "Wake up."

McCoy jerked awake, panicked eyes peering up at Logan.

"You awake, buddy?" Logan spoke softly.

McCoy nodded silently

After a quick breakfast-trail mix and bottled water-the two men set off again, heading for Haven…

 _Haven,_ Logan thought. _We could reach Haven today…_

 _What's going to happen to McCoy when we get there?_

McCoy found a footpath, bordered by soft green grass and shady trees. He set on down the path as if he knew where it led.

 _Maybe he does…_

Meanwhile, Logan, keeping close to McCoy, scanned the area for potential dangers.

McCoy stopped.

"We're here," he said.

The footpath had ended at a river, ferry waiting at a dock. Three men were there, each armed with a rifle.

All three rifles were now aimed at Logan, and McCoy.

Logan laid a protective arm around Jack McCoy's shoulder.

One of the men stepped forward, clearly in command of the other two.

"Identify yourselves, please," he commanded. Logan smiled thinly.

"You first," he challenged.

There was the sound of rifle safeties clicking off. Then, the man in command sighed.

"I'm Frank," he said. "The others are Barry, and Steve. How about you?"

Logan sighed. He _hated_ having to depend on blind trust.

"I'm Mike Logan, "he finally said. "And this is Jack McCoy."

"Logan and McCoy," Frank didn't lower his rifle. "We were told to expect Alex Beattie and Elaine Drury."

"Lainie…" Jack McCoy spoke up, and Logan hurriedly laid a hand on his shoulder.

Too late…

Now, all three rifles were trained on McCoy.

"What about Lainie?" Frank's voice was hostile.

"Wait!" Logan interposed himself between the men and McCoy. "I think she gave something to Jack…"

" _Gave?_ "

Now, Frank was looking at Jack, and Logan saw that the man _knew_ what it was, knew what Lainie had given to McCoy…

* * *

 _Dead blue eyes and bloody hands…_

Now, Jack knew what to say.

"She gave it to me," he told Frank.

"Why you?" Frank asked him. "What happened?"

"They killed her…" _dead blue eyes…"_ She gave it to me to bring to Haven."

The rifles lowered and Frank walked up to him.

 _Why is he crying?_ Jack wondered.

"Let's get you and your friend across the river," Frank spoke softly.

Jack looked back at Logan, who nodded silently. The trip, across the river, only took about an hour.

Jack stepped off the ferry.

 _We're here, Lainie…_

The entire village was coming out to meet them; all of them Evos, all of them aware of what Lainie had given to him; and now Jack knew what he had to do…

* * *

Mike Logan felt…unsettled.

Haven was a village, a town, and everyone was coming out to meet them; to meet the new arrivals. Logan could hear the whispers…

 _I thought we were waiting for a man and a child; not a man and an old guy…_

 _The child is dead. The old guy's carrying it now…_

 _It…_ Logan wondered. _What the hell is_ _ **it?**_ _Will it hurt Jack?_

"What's McCoy carrying?" he asked Frank.

"Hope," Frank replied. "Jack McCoy is carrying hope. Hope for everyone…"

McCoy didn't seem to notice all the people, the way they were looking at him, as if he were a…religious icon.

He walked through the assembled throng, people parting in front of him in absolute silence. Logan moved up, keeping close to McCoy, Frank by his side.

This silence was…alarming, somehow…

They were at the Village Green now, McCoy heading for what looked like a pagoda. Logan stepped forward, ready to intercept McCoy, but strong arms suddenly wrapped around the detective, immobilizing him.

"I'm sorry," Frank's voice in his ear. "Don't interrupt him now."

Jack McCoy had stopped, right in front of the pagoda. He stood there, staring off at nothing, lips moving soundlessly.

Then, his knees buckled…

" _Jack!"_

Logan bucked, tried to break free. But Frank had to have been a cop. He knew how to bring a suspect down.

Pinned down, arms twisted behind his back, all Logan could do was watch the scene as it unfolded.

"I'm sorry, Mike," there were tears in Frank's voice. "This can't be stopped. The world depends on this…"

McCoy collapsing, light flaring up from the convulsing body, light blazing to dim the noonday sun…

Light shredded its way out of McCoy's body, a whole constellation of miniature suns flying up and away; the sky responding with blossoms of light, the sky itself turning pure white.

Again and again, light flared and pulsed, blinding Logan, and all the others…

 _ **Image…**_

 _ **Light become a shield wall, protecting against…**_

 _ **The sun itself…**_

 _ **Solar flares race Earthward, and Logan knows that if they hit, all life…**_

 _ **All that lives will be eradicated.**_

 _ **But the light that protects…What Lainie gave to Jack McCoy, what McCoy carried to Haven…**_

 _ **The solar flares hit Earth, and the light, the suns…**_

 _ **The Light absorbs all the gamma, all the danger, like the biggest, and baddest umbrella of all time…**_

Finally, after interminable minutes, the light show ended; and Frank let go of Logan.

 _McCoy…_

Jack McCoy lay there, sprawled face down. Logan staggered to his feet, ran over.

Hand to the base of his throat, fingers feeling for a pulse.

Nothing…

He turned McCoy over.

Eyes half open…staring blindly...pupils dilated…

Chest unmoving…

 _No…please, no…_

He gathered McCoy into his arms, still feeling for a pulse… _anything._

The body lay limp in his arms, unmoving, chest still…

 _Dead…_

 _Oh…god…_

 _Dead._

Logan bowed his head, holding the dead body close.

Something snapped, deep inside Logan, fury at yet another friend lost…

Light exploded in his skull, roaring in his head. Blinded, and deafened, he felt _it_ sizzle through his body…

From his head…down through his chest, screaming down his arms, through hands and fingers down into the body he held so close…

He heard a harsh gasp for air, felt a body convulsing in his arms.

"Someone help us!" Logan heard Frank call out.

Then he heard nothing at all…

* * *

The ceiling was plain and white, and Mike Logan had been looking at it for a long time before he realized he was awake.

 _I'm in a bed…_

Someone had stripped off his clothes, wrapped him up in a soft bathrobe and heated blankets.

His memory was more than a little fuzzy. But he remembered holding a dead body in his arms, feeling grief and rage in equal measure.

 _Jack…_

"He's on your right," a nurse walked in. "Just turn your head and look…"

Logan looked to his right. There Jack McCoy was, like Logan, wrapped up in heated blankets.

"Mayor Edwards will be along in a few minutes," the nurse said. "So, don't get out of bed. You need rest, young man."

Edwards arrived about a half hour later, stood looking down at McCoy.

"He saved the world today," Edwards bent down, laid a gentle hand on McCoy's shoulder.

"We've known, for a while that this solar flare event was coming," he continued. "We had gathered about a hundred Evos who-between them-had the power to protect Earth from an _Extinction level_ solar flare. Renautas had them all killed."

He sat by Logan's chair as he spoke.

"But for Lainie, all would have been lost. She was chosen because, out of all of us, she was the only one who could carry all of those souls, all of that power, and still maintain her sense of self."

"They killed her too," Logan sighed. "If it hadn't been for Jack McCoy…"

"If it hadn't been for Jack McCoy," Edwards finished. "Earth would have been sterilized. That solar flare was the kind that only happened once every three, or four hundred million years."

"It almost killed him…" Logan muttered.

 _It_ _ **did**_ _kill him…_

He shivered, remembering, again, holding McCoy's dead body in his arms.

"It's a good thing you turned out to be a Healer," Edwards said.

Logan went still.

"I'm a… _what?_ "

His memory of what happened after was still a little spotty.

"You brought him back, Mike" Edwards smiled.

Logan closed his eyes.

 _Well…fuck me sideways…_

"Will he recover?" he looked over at McCoy, curled up, sleeping under the blankets, silver hair tousled upon his forehead.

"Won't know until he wakes up," Edwards sighed. "All we can do is pray…"

 _Yeah…pray…_

Logan lay back, closed his eyes.

 _We almost lost you today, Jack…_


	13. Chapter 13

Angels and Ministers of Grace

Chapter 13

 _Epilogue_

 _1 Hogan Place_

 _12 noon_

Just outside the building, standing by the local hot dog stand, Abbie Carmichael was going out of her skull.

After that one lone _Sal Contarini_ email, there had been nothing; no email, or snail mail. Not even a phone call; although Carmichael knew Mike Logan had requisitioned a cell phone from the Raleigh Undercover Department.

The silence was really weighing on her now.

 _He could be dead..._

 _Jack could be dead…_

Something happened, about a month after the email; something NASA was calling _The Event_.

The biggest, baddest, and most… _frightening_ …light show in Earth's history; it had covered the entire world.

NASA had traced it to somewhere in Canada, near the US Border, and Carmichael had to wonder if there was a correlation between it, and Jack McCoy…

 _He said he had to go there…_

Now, it was two weeks later, and NASA was still talking about _The Event_ , and how it may have saved humanity from an Extinction-level threat.

Something to do with solar flares…

That wasn't the only news rocking the world.

Darren Marth, and his network, had finally been able to bring Renautas down…

 _The terrorist attack on Odessa, Texas…_

That hadn't been Evos after all…

Erica Kravid, the boss lady of Renautas herself.

 _She_ had ordered the attack, she had arranged for it, planned for it, set her henchmen out to do it.

Now, Erica Kravid, all of her executives, and certain of her underlings-a few of whom were Evos too-were all under arrest, facing multiple charges of mass murder.

Genocide…

The coming trials were already being compared to Nuremberg…

Abbie sighed.

 _Too late for Jack McCoy…_

Her cell phone rang, and she looked down to the screen, at the number flashing there.

 _Mike Logan…_

"Mike?" she answered the phone, voice atremble.

"Yo, Abbie…" it was Logan.

"Where are you, Mike? Is Jack with you?"

"We're by the hot dog stand…"

She turned back to the hot dog stand. There they both were, Mike Logan and Jack McCoy, both men bearded and shaggy…

Abbie Carmichael trotted up, looking at Jack McCoy.

He had always been on the lean side. Now, he was positively thin.

"You guys hungry?" she asked.

"Yeah," Logan nodded. "I'm tapped out cash-wise. We've been living on trail mix and water…"

Abbie ordered two Wieners with the Works as Logan continued his tale…

"I figured it would be best if we _snuck_ back to the City. Didn't want to run into Renautas again…"

His hand strayed to his left shoulder as he spoke, and dark memories lay in his eyes.

"You don't have to worry about Renautas," Carmichael handed a hot dog and soda to McCoy. "They're all facing multiple charges of mass murder."

Logan looked at his own hot dog and soda as if he had never seen one before; but Abbie knew he was seeing other things in his mind's eye…

"Good…" he finally nodded slowly. "Hope they bring the Death Penalty back just for them…"

"I've been hearing it might happen," Abbie watched Logan gently gather Jack McCoy to him.

It hurt to see how passive McCoy had become.

"Let's get you guys inside," she was proud her voice didn't tremble. "Adam will be wanting to see you."

* * *

 _4 PM_

Adam Schiff, sitting at Jack McCoy's desk, was looking at his old friend. Jack McCoy, painfully thin, looking like a reject from the Salvation Army, had initially wandered about the office, and there was no sign in him that he recognized anything, or anyone; not even Arthur Branch.

 _Or me…_

 _That_ had hurt, like a knife through the heart. But, more than that, more than the hurt of being forgotten, there was the hurt of knowing that the incredible soul of the man himself, brave, irascible, impetuous, and… _true_ , might be gone, beyond recall.

Jack McCoy was asleep now, curled up on the couch, the same couch he had slept on countless times before… _this._

A pillow under his head, and a light blanket over him, McCoy was as comfortable as Schiff could make him.

Dr. Emil Skoda was also there, at Adam Schiff's invitation, keeping watch over the sleeping man.

Abbie Carmichael had taken Detective Mike Logan over to her place, for a quick shower and shave. Logan had promised he would return to the office as quickly as possible; but Schiff had given Carmichael orders to make sure _he_ got some rest too.

That Logan had been able to bring Jack McCoy home was nothing short of a miracle.

"Emil?" he turned to the psychiatrist.

Skoda looked up from watching McCoy sleep.

"If you're expecting a miraculous recovery, _don't_ ," he sighed.

"Is there anything we can do, Emil?"

"I would like to see him get a full physical _and_ mental examination," Skoda nodded. "We need to know how much damage-physical and mental-he endured, otherwise we won't be able to tell what he needs in terms of supports and long term care."

And, now it was time for Schiff to ask the question he didn't want to ask; to hear the answer he didn't want to hear.

"Can Jack recover from this?"

"I…"

Again, Skoda sighed, shook his head. It was clear that he, too, didn't want to give the answer Schiff didn't want to hear…

"I…don't think so…" he finally said. "There are clear indications of pretty severe neurological damage. Mr. McCoy will probably need someone to take care of him for the rest of his life. I'm sorry, Adam…"

Schiff stood, grieving for the man he had loved like his own son. Now, he knew where his duty lay.

"I'll take care of him," he stated.

"You sure?" Skoda stood too. "Mr. McCoy's an Evo. We have no idea how long he'll live."

"I know," Schiff waved it aside.

 _I have a few secrets of my own…_

"I'm an Evo too," he admitted. "That's partly why I went to Europe in the first place. However long Jack lives, I'll be there for him."

 _Renautas…damn them, damn them all to hell…_

They had taken thousands of innocent people, condemned them all to agony.

To death, and maybe even worse than death…

Jack McCoy had been one of their victims.

 _Never again, we said…_

Renautas had proven them all wrong.

 _I'll bring Renautas down for what they've done. They will pay._

In the meantime, there was Jack McCoy to see to.

 _I'll find a place in Manhattan,_ he decided. _All our friends will be able to visit. Maybe seeing familiar faces will bring him back…_

Speaking of which…

"Mike told me Jack still dreams of Claire Kincaid," he turned back to Skoda. "is that a bad thing? Or a good thing?"

"Might actually be good," Skoda shrugged. "Could mean there's at least a little recoverable memory in there, maybe still a little left of Jack McCoy in there. Means there might be a little hope…"

 _Hope…_

Adam Schiff looked down at his old friend, Jack McCoy, asleep on the couch.

 _Maybe there's hope after all…_

Fin


End file.
